Discomfort
by atree
Summary: How Lelouch deals with the difficulties of being a cart driver. With a little bit of help from C.C.


Discomfort

"Who'd have thought you'd be such a stickler for comfort?"

She leaned against the bale of hay like it was the most natural thing in the world, like the rough straw didn't prod her skin in a million different places, like the heat wasn't soaking her clothes through with sweat. They slept in back of the cart, a tarp thrown over it for protection, with a thin, scraggly blanket each. It was dark inside, but even in pitch blackness he could feel the smirk on her face. He gritted his teeth. He would _not _be brought low by something as mundane as this. If C.C. could stand it, so could he.

"I'm quite used to this, you know," she said as if she could read his thoughts. "I've slept in all sorts of places – ships, caves, riverbeds, iron maidens. This place is almost a paradise. It would be unfair to compare a pampered royal like yourself with _me_." She twirled her hand as if admiring a ring on her finger, to show him she could be elegant in any sort of setting. "Besides, the sooner you admit that you can't sleep unless you're in a featherdown bed, the sooner we can discuss how much you didn't think this one through."

"I…am Zero, the 99th Emperor of Brittania, the Demon King. I have faced a thousand tribulations more trying than this." But it was so hard to be imposing when the hay threatened to make him sneeze.

"I expected this, you know. Tell me, Lelouch. How does it feel, to finally live like a plebian?"

"Unforseen circumstances," he muttered, picking out strands of hay from his clothing. It was a futile effort; the moment he got one strand off two more took its place. "If the Shinkiro hadn't suffered engine failure, we would've been safely in Tibet by now. Everything is subject to chance, even the most impeccable of plans."

"Sounds more like excuses to me."

"Go to sleep, C.C." he snapped. "We have another long day tomorrow…of…riding."

"And here we come to the crux of the matter. The fact that you – " she pointed a long thin finger at him " – are physically incapable of riding a horse for more than ten minutes. Oh, don't even try to deny it, Lelouch. We both know you have the physical aptitude of a stick with legs. It you ask me nicely, I'll take over for you tomorrow."

"I am Lelouch! I am the Black Prince! The man who…Please," he said through gritted teeth.

She laughed, mocking and extremely loud in the confines of the cart. "That wasn't so hard, now was it? But not good enough."

"W-What? I even said – I even said p-please!"

With a yawn, she stretched back on her bale of hay. "I'm not the one hated by ninety-nine percent of the world's population. And I'm not the one desperately fleeing from people who would sooner shoot me than look me in the eye."

"I…I was not made for this," he admitted. "Give me a chessboard locked in stalemate, give me a single Knightmare against a million, give me a screaming crowd that can be turned away with words. Give me a pawn and I can slay a – "

"There you go with your theatrics again. It'd be more impressive if you stopped fussing over the straw on your clothes." She shot him a sideways glance. His eyes were narrowed and his mouth was set in that usual frown of his. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. Innumerable tears showed through his school uniform – the only thing he had time to put on before that mad dash from the palace.

"What do you want, C.C.?" he said, body falling limp across the stack of hay. "I admit it – you're better at this sort of thing than I am. The heat is giving me a headache and I still have saddle sores from that horse. My plan wasn't perfect – you were right, I should have let you co-pilot instead of driving the whole thing myself. There. Happy?"

"Yes. But not _quite_."

He looked so deliciously miserable that C.C. wanted to bite down on his skin to savour the taste. She, alone, could make him like this, so miserable over petty trifles, the great Lelouch! – losing a battle of attrition to a bale of hay. She alone knew he was alive. The secret was a delicious thing, a five-layer marble cake she ate a thimbleful at a time, a splinter stuck in her finger she drew out as slowly as possible to revel in the agony. She wanted to go up to a stranger and tell him, "The man next to me is Lelouch, the dead 99th Emperor of Brittania!" – just to see the look on his face. But she didn't, of course. Wouldn't. She simply settled for leaning in close to him.

"Kiss me."

Surprise flitted over his face, quickly replaced by weariness. "I'm in no mood for your jokes, C.C."

"I never joke."

"It's been a long day. We should both get some sleep – "

Her mouth closed over his. It was not a perfect kiss in any sense of the word. They were both sweaty and tired and his nose bumped her forehead when she leaned in, ungraceful oaf that he was, but nothing was perfect and it was as good a kiss as she ever gave. On his tongue she tasted all the tartness of his misery and covered it with the sweetness of her relief. His eyes were open from shock, violet irises staring wide into amber. She could have stayed like that forever, but Lelouch made a grasping motion with his hands and she reluctantly parted to let him breath. When they broke apart, he took two huge breaths and said:

"What the hell was that for?"

"Good night, Lelouch."

"N-No! This can't be! You're C.C.!" He spluttered. "You can't – you can't possibly!"

She turned away from him, throwing the blanket across her shoulders. The straw was awfully uncomfortable, and it was like an oven in here, but she'd die before she would tell him that. The night was young. Let him figure it out in his own time.


End file.
